


Complicated Swirls

by boyznoize



Category: The Outsiders - All Media Types, The Outsiders - S. E. Hinton
Genre: Canon - Book & Movie Combination, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, Jealousy, M/M, POV First Person, Period-Typical Homophobia, Unrequited Crush, Unrequited Love, and the tv show too because i’m insane
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 14:40:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29761155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boyznoize/pseuds/boyznoize
Summary: The many, many,manyreasons why Ponyboy Curtis hates Steve Randle.
Relationships: Ponyboy Curtis & Steve Randle, Ponyboy Curtis/Steve Randle
Comments: 3
Kudos: 19





	Complicated Swirls

**Author's Note:**

> had this idea for a long time but never really finalized it until now and even based a bit off my experience, but i love how it came out so enjoy

Here are the reasons why I, Ponyboy Michael Curtis, hate Steven Lucas Randle.

  1. He’s a smartass.
  2. He’s a dumbass.
  3. He’s a jackass.
  4. He’s an ass in general.
  5. See all of the above.



But apparently, that’s not enough for people anymore. I don’t get why though, whatever happened to just not liking someone? My mom and dad always told me there were gonna be people in life that you just don’t get along well with, and that’s the case for me and Steve. But now you gotta write an entire college-level dissertation on why you hate someone, but it’s easy with Steve cause he’s a real jerk. I could easily write a novel on why I hate him.

For starters, I hate that he’s always hated me since the moment they met.

One day, Sodapop asked mom if this boy could come over and play, she says yes, and he’s all giddy and gung-ho (as shocking as that sounds for Soda…), and he brings out this kid. Immediately I noticed this kid was funny looking and had a big nose and crooked teeth, but I didn’t care. I liked playing with Soda and Darry’s friends, they were always nice. Not this one. When I came to introduce myself, he told me to “Get lost, twerp.” Soda doesn’t even defend me when I start bawling my eyes out, and neither does my mom when I run to her.

“Oh, Pony, sweetie,” she’s cooing, petting her hand against my hair softly, “Those boys just want to play with people their own age sometimes. You’ll understand when you’re older.”

I did understand later, but it still made me mad. None of Soda’s other friends were mean like that. I just didn’t get it, but knowing how popular Soda was, everyone liked him and he could easily get a new friend to play with. It was just a matter of time.

That never happened.

I hate that when I say I hate Steve, people are always telling me I don’t actually hate him, I just don’t get him.

My mom, my dad, Soda, Darry, Two-Bit, hell, anyone that knew me and Steve would say it, but why? What is there to get about Steve Randle?

He’s a jerk. He’s loud. He’s rude. He’s a typical slug you’d see at that diner over by the Ribbon. He’s nobody.

I hate that Steve always gets annoyed when I “tag along.”

Any night they’ll go to movies or the races or just walking to get up and move, Soda will ask me to come along. Anytime he does, I notice Steve’s face dims and falters to this scowl, like I’m gum on his shoe that doesn’t deserve to be there. It ain’t my fault I’m Soda’s brother and he still likes me better.

I hate how Steve has such a smart ass mouth.

We’ll be sitting at the diner of some place and Two-Bit will ask me to pass the pepper or something. Sometimes I don’t think and I’ll grab the salt, so here comes Stevie Chaplin, the oh-so famous comedian giving some smartass remark like “Geez, seems the kid needs to go back to school or something.” and everyone will burst out laughing, and he just sits there with a shit-eating grin basking in my humiliation. Sometimes they’ll tell him to lay off, but most of the times the other guys find it hilarious too and I don’t get it.

He gets smart like that with Two-Bit too. Never Johnny because Johnny is the “nice one” or Darry and Dally because they’d shatter his jaw in a heartbeat, but I notice he never gets smart with Soda either. It makes sense, I wouldn’t want to piss off my only friend either.

I hate that despite all of the teasing and insults, everyone says Steve doesn’t hate me, as if I belong in the crazy house for even daring to think of such a thing.

Mom and dad always say it’s “his way of showing care.” How is humiliating me showing care?

Soda always says that’s how he “jokes around” and is “just messing with me.” but Two-Bit does that much better. Two-Bit doesn’t make me feel like some idiot. Two-Bit isn’t always giving me a hard lump in my throat to swallow. If all of them can call this Steve’s way of “caring,” then I guess Johnny’s parents' way of treating Johnny can be considered “caring” too.

I hate that Steve is so damn cocky. He thinks he’s the best thing since sliced bread and it annoys the hell out of me.

We’ll be sitting in Buck’s enjoying our time, but when Steve wins at a game of pool he’ll yell real loud or something and say that dumbass phrase, _“You can’t handle the Randle!”_ and flexes his muscles and I almost die of secondhand embarrassment every time it happens.

He thinks he’s so smart too, but he always makes Bs and Cs in school and never studies. Maybe if the asshole picked up the book once in a while, he’d know something other than what year a certain Corvette came out, as if anyone cares.

And that’s another thing I hate. He’s always flapping his big gums about cars.

Cars, cars, cars. That’s all he ever talks about. He was the first one out of the gang to learn how to drive, even before Darry, and he was the one who helped my dad fix our broken down minivan, and that’s how my dad referred Steve (and Soda) to the DX, cause he was good friends with the manager, but good lord almighty it’s like cars is all Steve knows! He’ll go on about Corvettes, and Mustangs, and Fords, and all this other auto-robotic junk I don’t care about. I listen to him speak about cars out of pity, cause at some point I know Sodapop has to get bored of it. Swear, sometimes I’m too nice for my own good.

I hate how much of an asshole Steve is. Not just to me, but even random people.

We were at the races one day watching Soda and Dally, and some guy accidentally spills his drink on Steve’s shoes. The shoes were already dirty and beat up, so it’s not like it mattered, but Steve went off on the guy and they started having a full on fist fight. Honestly, as satisfying as it was to see Steve with a broken, bloody nose, the embarrassment I felt when all of us got kicked out for _his_ mistake was much more powerful. Even Dally doesn’t lose his cool over stupid crap like that. It’s so weird.

I hate that Steve is always at our house.

Mom and Dad always let him come over and mooch off and it’s annoying. He’ll have sleepovers with Soda and always force me out of my room to sleep on the couch because Mom says it’s the “nice thing to do for a guest,” but he wasn’t even my guest! No one knows what happened to Steve’s mom, whether she left or died. For the longest time I thought boys could also get pregnant and that Steve’s dad gave birth to Steve, and when I asked where his mom was, my mom would slap me on the arm and tell me to shush, but I don’t get what I said wrong. His dad is big, mean, and scary looking. Balding with a beer belly and a scruffy beard. I would kill to have Dad look all scary and mean like that and scare off the mean kids (like Steve.) I don’t get why he doesn’t just stay over with that guy. He’s lucky.

I hate that Steve eats like a pig.

In addition to always bumming at our house, he bums off our dinners, and he always eats like a freaking pig. It grosses me out. He never closes his mouth and he gets food all over his face. Jeez, and I thought _I_ was the kid. No one ever says anything to him, but if I even put an elbow on the table, I get a scolding from Mom. It’s so unfair, why does Steve get away with everything?

I hate the summer Steve goes through puberty. Losing baby fat grouped with growing taller, sharper, and the hours of yardwork and football playing gives him a lean body with muscles that even Darry says are impressive. I wouldn’t care if Steve didn’t always have to gloat about it. Anytime we try to play football, he’ll want to be on the skins team to show off to the ladies walking by and it grinds my gears. I asked Darry one day how could I get like a body like his. Really, I wanted to say how could I get a body that looks like Steve’s, but I knew Darry would look at me weird if I said that. Besides, Darry’s older and technically has a better body anyways.

“You just gotta work out a lot and play sports,” Darry says, ruffling my hair, knowing I hate that. “Also eat a lot of spinach then you get to be strong like your big bro.” He gleams, flexing his muscles. I wanted to roll my eyes, he thinks I haven’t seen Popeye, but I just give him a small smile and “Thanks.” and go to the bathroom.

I take off my shirt, examining how pudgy and young I look. I don’t care if I’m only twelve, I gotta look better than this. Like Steve.

The next morning, the sign up list for track is posted at school and I’m the first person in line to sign my name at the board.

I hate that Steve is so closed-off.

We know about Two-Bit’s mom. Mrs. Mathews is a sweet, nice lady who bakes amazing brownies. She’s honestly a trooper, given the fact that she’s had to put up with Two-Bit for fifteen years. We know about Dally’s dad, he doesn’t want us to but we do. We even know about Johnny’s folks, I wish we didn’t.

But nothing about Steve’s dad. Nothing. Nada. Zilch. Zero.

Yet anytime we try to ask him about his dad, he either dodges the question or gets real angry for no reason. Dally tried to ask him where his dad worked and Steve started getting real mouthy with him, so Dally socked him in the throat. Soda elbowed me in the rib just for giggling.

Even after Steve regained his ability to talk and Dally asked him again, Steve didn’t say anything. He just walked away, and I hate that my mind actually started to get curious and wonder.

I hate that Steve is so goddamn confusing.

It’s one night, we’re walking back from the movies - me, Soda, and Steve that is. Soda asked me to come, Steve got annoyed but swallowed it, and I happily accepted and I even got to pick the movie. We went to go see that new fantasy movie, _7 Faces of Dr. Lao_. I loved it. Soda liked it.

“That movie fucking blowed.”

Steve hates fantasy movies. I may or may not have known that.

Soda’s been dancing funny for a while now, I looked him up and down. “Uh, Soda, you need to go use the bathroom or somethin’?”

“Good god, yes.” Soda groaned. “I’m tryin’ to wait till we get home.”

I tried to offer help. “You can just go in the trees somewhere, it’s dark.”

Soda shook his head in response. “Nah, kiddo. Not unless you want a red dot on our house.”

Before I could ask what that meant, Steve was pointing somewhere in the distance. “Hey, it’s a 7/11 up the street over there.” He was pointed towards the lit up orange and green building down the corner of Magnolia and Lawson Street. “Looks open, they’ll probably let you use the can.”

“Thanks, Stevie.” Soda starts to hop off, but turns around and looks at us. “Wait, I need you to look after Pony while I’m gone. It won’t take long.”

Glory, that made me suck my teeth in something fierce. I’m thirteen for god’s sake! I swear, Soda still treats me like I’m three sometimes, he’s worse than Mom. I wanted to protest, but Steve waved him off. “I’ll look after the brat, it’ll be fine.”

“‘Kay, I’ll be back.” And Soda was off.

When he was out of eyesight, these two girls over by the payphone on the other side of the street we passed by started giggling and squealing loud as hell for god knows what. Even from the distance I could tell they had a pound full of makeup caked on and their hair and clothes were almost as loud as them. One of them looked over and pointed towards us then tapped her friend on the shoulder, then both of them waved.

I could tell by the way Steve was grinning and waving like an idiot that they were waving at him. I could see his snaggletooth from here. It just made me think those poor girls were outta their mind.

Steve glances down at me staring and his expression flattens instantly. “Look, I’m gonna go talk to those broads over there.” He pointed towards the two girls. “Stay put, got it?”

I frowned. “But Soda said you gotta watch over me.” I didn’t mean to sound as whiny as I did.

“For Christ’s sake, kid, you are thirteen fucking years old. Stop being such a wuss.” Steve said with a scowl in his tone. I almost wanted to step on his foot. “No one is gonna hurt you. I just need to go get their number and come right. Now is that too much for the wittle baby?” He bent down and talked to me in that annoying baby talk voice, pouting and fluttering his eyelashes.

“Shut up.” is all I said.

Steve leaves with the biggest smirk on his face as if he just accomplished his life mission and saunters over to the other side of the street where the girls are.

I watch him leave then look around. It was dark out here and barely any buildings or light around. I’m not scared of the dark or anything like that, but I hate not knowing my surroundings. That’s why I can’t help but jump when I hear a low “Hey, grease!” coming from in front of me.

Suddenly, these four guys appeared out of nowhere, as if they were hiding in the shadows of the dark. They were big, older, and I could already tell by the buttoned-up polo shirts, khakis, and letterman’s that they were socs. My heart started pounding.

The guy in the front spoke up. “What are you doin’ out here all alone?”

I didn’t say anything.

“Aw, the cat got your tongue?” He looks around and his buddies start laughing. My first instinct is to run, but I feel frozen in place. All I can do is stare, but I wanted to run and cry.

“Li’l grease looks scared,” The one on the far right said. “Maybe we should show him why.”

They started getting closer to me, cracking their knuckles, I-

_“Hey!”_

Everyone whipped their heads around to see Steve running up to where we were. He stopped directly in front of me glaring at the socs. “What the _fuck_ is going on here?”

“We’re just gonna teach your friend here a little lesson.” The middle soc shrugged.

“Oh yeah?” Steve asked in a mocking tone. “What type of lowlife faggots pick on a little kid half their size, huh?” He beats his chest. “I’m right here.”

“We’ll beat you with him.” The soc in the back yelled out.

In the swiftest of movements, Steve crouched down, grabbed an empty beer bottle on the ground, smashed it against the fence, and used one arm to aim the pointed end of the bottle at the socs and his other arm extended out to block me.

“Huh? Come on!” Steve grunted. “Try and lay a finger on the kid, I dare you.”

The standoff felt like forever. They stared at Steve and he stared back at them ten times harder, not once letting either of his arms fall.

After what felt like an eternity, the middle soc sucked his teeth in and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Whatever guys, let’s find someone else. This city’s filled with white trash this time of night.” He spat at the ground before him and his buddies turned around and started walking away.

I couldn’t believe it. Steve saved me. _The_ Steve Randle saved me.

When it was clear they weren’t coming back, Steve threw the bottle back on the ground and turned towards me.

“Not a word of this to Soda, got it?”

This was _perfect_ . Steve leaving me alone and almost getting me hurt, glory I know Soda would _flip_. They’d get in a huge argument then Soda would hate Steve’s guts for putting me in danger like that and I’d finally be rid of Steve forever.

Except, I just nod. I nod and I say “I won’t.” And the crazy thing is, I mean it.

In the corner of my eye, I see a patch of blond hair jogging towards us.

“Hey, y’all!” Soda comes over, stopping in front of us. “Didn’t have too much fun while I was gone, right?”

“Nope. Not at all.” Steve says with an easy expression. He glanced towards me. “Ain’t that right, Ponyboy?”

For some reason I just stare at him. It’s something about Steve that looks… different, but I can’t tell what.

“Yoo-hoo, earth to Ponyboy!” I see Soda's hand waving in my face. “Is everything alright?”

I blink and rub my eyes, remembering where I am. “Oh, uh, yeah. Let’s go.”

He gives me a small pat on the back before him and Steve start walking. I lolligag behind with my hands in my pockets.

I can’t help but look at the back at Steve’s head. He has these really complicated swirls. I like it.

I hate that when we go to bed that night, all I can think about is that image. Of Steve guarding me, fending those socs off from hurting me with that busted bottle, looking as if he actually cared about me.

I hate how in the morning, I get up and try to style my hair in those complicated swirls. My hair’s long and red unlike Steve’s short, black, and curly. I use up all the product, knowing Mom is gonna yell at me later, I’m prepared for it.

I hate that when Steve comes by to walk with Soda to school, he doesn’t even notice.

I hate that Steve’s dislike of me is actually starting to bother me. I didn’t care if he thought I was a stupid tagalong kid, or an annoying pansy, or whatever, but now it’s beginning to bug the Sam Hill out of me. Whenever Soda asks me to go to the movies with him and Steve, I say no. But of course Soda doesn’t leave it alone so he asks me more, and I glance over at Steve who looks irritated and bored. For Soda’s sake, I go, but Steve’s scowl when I say yes starts to bother me more than it amused me.

I hate how much I start to go to the DX more than I used to. Mom never lets me walk there alone so I always had to bring Curly or Two-Bit along. One day, Two-Bit asked me why I liked coming over here so much. My face got so red, but before I could mutter anything, Soda grabbed me in a headlock and started giving me a serious noogie.

“It’s ‘cause he wants to see his big brother in action. Ain’t that right, Pony?”

“Yeah.” I say.

It’s a lie, but no one’s gotta know.

I hate that everytime I’m at the DX now, I gotta draw Steve.

He used to be so ugly to me, he’d be ugly to anybody - big nose, crooked teeth, weird hair, creepy dark eyes - but now I just find him interesting to look at.

He doesn’t look like a goblin like Dally, he doesn’t resemble a splitting image of anybody like Darry, he doesn’t look like a movie star like Soda or some kicked down puppy like Johnny, or a drunken Irish stereotype like Two-Bit. Steve looks… original.

So I sit there watching him work on cars and gossip terrible things about the girls at their school and draw him in my notepad. It’s suppose to be for math, but I don’t care. I always like detailing his swirls and that dove tattoo on his left bicep, it keeps me grounded cause sometimes I draw his muscles too big. I also notice he usually wears his DX shirt unbuttoned showing off his chest or goes completely shirtless when it gets hot. I draw, but it pisses me off.

Again, what a show-off.

I hate that whenever the gang plays football I try to be on the opposite team of Steve. They think it’s ‘cause I can’t stand him and would never work for him. I’d think that too until I catch the ball and he tackles me.

I hate this feeling in my chest I get when I walk in the DX with Two-Bit one day and there’s this red-headed girl hanging all over Steve.

“Fellas,” Steve looks up. “You’ve seen Evie around our streets before, right?”

“Oh yeah, Evie Walker.” Two-Bit perks up. “Seen you around school.”

“What’s she doing here?” I blurt out. I get so embarrassed when everyone in the garage looks at me crazy. I didn’t mean to say it, but I wasn’t thinking at all in the moment.

“Well…” Steve says slowly. He turns to Evie and they kiss.

They kiss.

Two-Bit howls and goes to pat Steve on the back. I just stand there looking at that Evie girl. I _hate_ Evie.

I hate the way Steve calls me jealous when we’re out at the diner eating and him and Evie are kissing all up on each other and feeding each other fries and I call them sick for it. Was I wrong, though? Everyone was thinking it, maybe, I guess, I dunno, but I said it.

Steve says I’m “too young” to understand love. Whatever, maybe he’s too stupid to get a room.

I hate that I actually don’t hate Evie.

She’s actually really nice. She’s got an attitude on her, it kind of matches Steve’s but it’s different on her. She’s not an asshole.

A lot of the girls on our side of town got attitudes, but Evie isn’t scary with hers. She just hates ignorance and stupidity is all, which is why I don’t get why she’s with Steve.

She’s a good friend to Soda’s girl, Sandy, and Two’s girl, Kathy, and she and Two-Bit are always goin’ at it, but it’s not a scary, depressing kind of bicker and more-so the funny, lighthearted kind. The kind where you can tell they’re friends who joke like this all the time.

She also gets on Steve any time he rags on me. I remember one day I was at the DX reading a book, Of Mice and Men, for my english class, and Steve goes:

“Oh of course here’s Pony, got his nose stuck in a book like always. No wonder he don’t got any friends his own age.”

I close the book with my face getting ready to fire off, but Evie slaps him upside the head.

“Leave the kid alone, at least he can read. If those instruction manuals had words instead of pictures, you wouldn’t even be a mechanic.”

I started cracking up and Evie shot me a smile. Steve just twisted his face muttering “I can read.” and went to the back of the garage. Glory, why does someone like him get someone like her.

I hate the way I feel when Steve gets on to me for walking alone.

It was the day I saw that Paul Newman movie and those socs jumped me. I told him it’s none of his business and he replies:

“It is my business! Look at my nose!”

I just look down, fighting back a grin. I hate that deep down I hoped it wasn’t his nose he was worried about.

I hate it when Steve calls me a “hero” after I come back home from the fire.

Maybe he’s just being nice to be nice. Maybe he actually does think I’m a hero. I just mutter a “thanks” and move along. At the point, I was already tired of everything, but it’s not just that. I hated that even after everything - my parents, Windrixville, the fire - I still had the time to have this weirdness with Steve. I hate that him being nice to me gives me more satisfaction than it should, cause I hate Steve, I don’t care what he thinks of me.

Whatever, Soda probably told him to be nice to me when I came back.

I hate how little I write about Steve in my theme for Mr. Syme.

When it comes to Steve, I just give the cold hard facts - lean, cocky, seventeen, cars, Soda, hubcaps, Evie, complicated swirls, and because I decided to be nice, _smart._ I even left in the part where Darry socks him in his schnauzer for calling him “all brawns, no brains” cause it’s funny.

I also wrote that I couldn’t stand him, ( **_cause I can’t!_ **) and I left the reason why Steve held off those socs with a busted bottle. It was for Soda’s sake, honest. Soda still didn’t know about what happened and I’m sure he’d get a heart attack knowing I was in danger just for a few seconds.

But the thing is, there’s a lot I could’ve written about Steve, a lot I could go into detail about, like the way he got his dove tattoo on a dare, or how he bought this medallion for his dad when his dad was three months sober, or how he can play the guitar and sing good, or how he’s always dancing in the DX garage with Soda and they make work look fun, or how he actually treated Evie better than any guy does for any girl on the east side, or the fact that despite that Steve obviously has a rough time at home with his dad, he never asked my parents or Soda or any of us for any favors, or any pity for that matter.

My theme was already way past the number of pages Mr. Syme assigned like 185 pages ago, no need to stress him out even more. If Mr. Syme gets a heart attack, it’s Steve’s fault.

I hate that even after all that’s happened, I still don’t know how Steve actually feels about me.

It’s been a rough couple of months. We lost mom and dad. We lost Johnny and Dal. The socs feel like they lost a legend with Bob. The whole town just feels murky and weird.

Yeah, I got bigger things to think about, but am I really wrong for not wanting to think about the past? Am I such an awful, horrible person for not wanting to think about almost being drowned to death, watching my friend kill a guy, watching said and friend and another die right before my eyes and instead wanting to think about, well, anything else? Am I really?

It’s been a year since. I know how I am with Soda, and Darry, and Two-Bit, but I still feel clueless with Steve. That is until he comes to the backyard with me one evening while I was hanging over the fence watching the sunset.

I hear footsteps on the grass, I didn’t know who it was until I heard that deep, gravelly voice say, “Hand me a coke from the cooler.”

I glance over at him then bend over and open the cooler. “We only got Pepsi.” I say.

“That’ll do.”

I grab it from the ice and toss it over to Steve. He catches it and pops the lid, taking a swig and walking over to beside me.

“Speaking of Pepsi, you and Soda done playing cards in there?” I ask.

“I’m done, but Two-Bit’s trying his luck with him.” Steve responds.

I can’t help but chuckle, Soda was notorious at cheating at poker. If it’s with Steve I’d usually help.

Steve continued, “What’re you doin’ out here all alone anyways? ‘Think Superman’s gonna want you back inside, it’s getting dark.”

I shrug. “It’s just the backyard.”

“So? You should come inside and maybe try, I dunno, having fun.” Steve said in a sarcastic tone - another thing I hate. “You always gotta be so stand-offish.”

I give him a once over. “I’m stand-offish? That’s rich coming from you.”

“Hey, I got a girl and friends to testify, I don’t see anything for you, bookworm.”

I just turn my attention back to the sunset. He always has to throw that friends thing in my face, but I had friends - Curly, Mark, Terry, Ben, Scout, and some more kids who _wanted_ to be my friends because everything from last year made me “popular”, but the thing is the gang barely liked my friends. I just don’t get it.

I look up at the sunset and think of Johnny. I think about how he suddenly didn’t want to die anymore because he realized he had so much more to live for. I think of Dally. I think about how he wanted to die because he always lived too much too fast and had nothing to live for anymore. It just all makes me think about how they both died so young, they both didn’t get to live life to the fullest or get the answers on things they had questions for. Then that makes me wonder…

“Hey, Steve. Do you hate me?”

My eyes grow wide when I realize what I said. It’s not a stupid question, I know it, but I can’t help but feel stupid. Thank Glory the orange hue of the sun is hiding my red face right now.

I don’t look at Steve, but I hear him chortle. “Do you hate me?”

I hesitated, but I knew the answer.

“...No.”

“Then I don’t hate you.” He shoots back, taking another swig of his Pepsi. I don’t want the conversation to end, but I need it to, ‘cause I feel like I’ll embarrass myself if I go any further, but Steve lets out a loud burp and sucks in a breath. “You know when I read that little essay of yours, I was kinda shocked. You made it sound like I hated your guts and you hated mine.”

There goes my eyes growing wide again. My heart started to race. I looked over at him, “You read my theme?”

“Yeah, Soda showed it to me.” He responded.

Glory, I was gonna kill Soda. I only meant to show that to him. He probably showed it to Two-Bit, and god forbid Darry saw all the shitty things I wrote about him. It was stupid of me to write those things about him, I was just a dumb kid who didn’t get it. Maybe I still am, but I know better now.

Despite that, all I mustered was a quiet, “Oh.”

“Yeah.” Steve rolled his eyes. “Y’know, Ponyboy, I really don’t hate you. I don’t. I know I pick on you a lot but Soda and Two’re always coddling you, and come on, you’re an easy target.” He says, punching my shoulder.

Now I was rolling my eyes, but there was a ghost of a smile creeping on my lips, but I had to stop it. “You’re just sayin’ that ‘cause of Soda.”

“I’m not.” Steve said firmly. “You’re an annoying pain in the ass who needs to find friends his own age and quit tagging along, but I don’t hate you. If I did, I would’ve paid some little runt to kick your ass already.”

I laugh. I genuinely laugh and Steve laughs with me, showing a toothy smile. And when I see that smile in the orange-now-fading-to-purple light, suddenly all the hatred comes back. All the things I felt before reappear like they never left and I get this tight feeling in my chest and it pisses me off to no end.

The sound of a can crinkling pierces through my thought and I come back to Earth to realize Steve’s done with his drink.

“Boy, I really needed that.” He says, throwing the crumpled up can over the fence onto the neighbors yard. “Gonna go back and see if Two-Bit’s cryin’ like a bitch, but the sky was nice tonight. I see why you like the sunset so goddamn much, it’s beautiful.” Steve says. “But I’m more of a stars in the night type of a guy. See you, kid.” He ruffles my hair roughly before disappearing back in the house, leaving me all alone again.

And all I can think of when I look in the sunset is that I truly do hate Steve.

I hate that a month later, Steve drops out of school and starts working full-time with Soda at the DX.

I just don’t get it, I really don’t. Steve’s eighteen, this was his senior year. He just had nine more months to go and that’s it. That’s _it._

Darry, Soda, and Two-Bit are all supportive of him, giving him pats on the backs and congratulatory smiles. I give him one too, but boy is it the tightest, most plastic smiled I’ve ever feigned. I was just getting over the fact that Soda decided to drop out, but now this happens.

Steve was smart, no he is smart. Too smart to do this. He could’ve gone to one of those schools for mechanics and get a real degree and start his own auto shop in the future or work at one those pit shops for NASCAR. Maybe you don’t need a degree for to do either of those, crap, I don’t know, but this is _stupid!_ Just so goddamn **_stupid._ **

Now, only Two-Bit accompanies me to the walk to school, but I still feel lonely. It’s only a matter of time before he drops or ages out, but Two-Bit was never the school type, and honestly, neither was Soda, but Steve dropping boils my blood and I hate that it does because I shouldn’t even care what the bastard does.

I don’t ask him why he did it. He wouldn’t‘ve answered, but I just didn’t wanna hear it.

I hate that when Two-Bit finally gets a job (he’s the proud newest member of the McDonald’s food chain family), we all go out to the diner to celebrate. He brings Kathy, Darry brings himself, Soda brings the one thousandth totally-not-Sandy blonde girl he picked up somewhere, and of course, _of freaking course_ Steve brings Evie.

I hate how lovey-dovey and gross they are like always. Feeding each other fries, drinking chocolate milkshake through straws from the same cup, and constantly kissing on each other and giggling. It makes me sick.

Evie sees me staring at them from the corner of her eye and giggles. “What’s the matter, Ponyboy?”

Steve slings an arm around her, moving them closer together. “Don’t worry about him, babe, he’s just jealous I got someone to kiss on and he doesn’t.” He sticks his tongue out at me and I roll my eyes.

“Get a room you two!” Two-Bit jeers at them from the other side of the booth.

Everyone laughs, but Steve waves them off as he leans closer to Evie and kisses her.

It was gross. I felt like a peeping tom in plain sight, but I couldn’t look away. So couldn’t look away from the sight of those lips. They were so pink, soft-looking, so nicely sized and shaped. Not too big and small.

My mind goes back to Steve telling me I was jealous that he had someone to kiss. Glory, I hate to admit but he was right. He was so fucking right and I hated it. But as much as I hated that he was right, I hated how he was wrong.

‘Cause when I saw them kiss, I realized something. I wasn’t jealous of him.

I was jealous of Evie.

I hate the way I have to cry softly to not wake up Soda.

I feel like I’ve cried every night since that day because of all the people in the world _why_ did it have to be Steve? Why did it have to be a guy who’s my brother’s best friend? Why did it have to be a guy who only sees me as a little kid? Why does it have to be a guy who sees me as his brother? Why did it have to be a _guy?_

Why did it have to be Steve? Why is Steve the one who finally makes me realize all those kids in school and on the playground who used to call me a pansy and sissy were right? That when my dad used to tell me “Only girls and queers write the shit that you do.” that he was right? That all the socs who called me a “cocksucker” and a “faggot” and that I need to be sent away to one of those camps where they electrocute you until you’re normal were right?

Christ, why did Steve have to be the one to make me realize I’m a pervert?

I hate that I have to lie to Soda the one time he catches me crying.

I don’t mind lying, but I hate lying to Soda, cause he’s been lied to his whole life, whether it be the socs who called him ugly, the teachers who said he was dumb, or Sandy.

I guess one night he hears me sniffling and he leans over to my side.

“Honey, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” I mutter. “Just… just a nightmare is all.”

I haven’t had a nightmare in over a year.

He flips me over to face him and envelopes me in a hug, burying my face in his chest and shushing me saying things are gonna get better, but that just made me feel even worse and I started crying harder, cause they weren’t.

If I couldn’t even tell my brother the truth, then how would it get better?

I hate that anytime Soda wants me to go somewhere with Steve, I decline now,

He always looks sad and it makes me feel horrible ‘cause I know he worries about me a lot. Sometimes I think he gets the idea I wanna off myself, but I don’t.

I look over to Steve. He doesn’t look happy, doesn’t look sad, but he looks disappointed. Or neutral. Or, fuck, I don’t know. I just don’t fucking know with him.

I hate that I stop going to the DX now.

It was gradual. Instead of making the detour there, I started going straight to home when they let us out of school. Sometimes, I have track practice. Sometimes, I’ll hang out with Curly at his house, long as his sister Angela isn’t there. Sometimes, I get detention on purpose to stay after school.

Two-Bit had to start begging me to go ‘cause he said it “felt lonely”, but I always tell him I got homework to do or I just don’t wanna go. Eventually, he just stopped asking and let me be. That’s the best thing about Two-Bit, even if he doesn’t understand, he’ll understand.

I hate that even after dating Cathy, and Scout, and all these other girls who flung themselves at me because I was one of the “pretty boys”, I still couldn’t shake my feelings about Steve.

Anytime I tried to kiss them, my mind goes to the diner with Steve and Evie and their kiss, and how Steve’s lips looked so nice against Evie’s, how his lips just looked nice in general, but I wouldn’t ever get to know.

I lost my virginity to an older woman I met in the cabins when me, Darry, and Buck go on our annual fishing trip. I tried to enjoy it, I really did try, but I couldn’t. I finished and that was it. When I tell Darry about, he high fives me and shoots me a proud grin. I wish I could be proud.

I even try to have sex with one of the girls I dated once, trying to remember everything Two-Bit told me about “getting it up”. That’s how I ended up with everyone at school singing _“I Can’t Get No Satisfaction”_ by the Rolling Stones to me for the rest of the school year.

I hate that Steve sees me as a little brother, cause _god_ that makes me feel even more disgusting than I already feel.

I hate that Steve truly and honestly doesn’t hate me, cause if he did, boy this would be a lot easier.

I hate that I don’t hate Steve. I like Steve. I like Steve a lot, I might even love him, but then again, I don’t know. I might not ever know what love is. This isn’t love. My dad always said men can’t love each other like this, and he’s right. He’s gotta be, but still I can’t help but feel that maybe I _do_ love Steve. Just maybe.

I hate that after all this time, I finally realized something.

I don’t hate Steve Randle. I hate myself.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!


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